


Behind the blue eyes

by Renmiriffx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alternative First Meeting, Bipolar Disorder, Depressing Themes, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Ian's POV, Kissing, M/M, Mickey's POV, Original Character(s), Overdose, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Running away from home, Smoking, Taking Care of Someone, Unconventional lovestory, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomiting, dancer!Ian, drug addict!Mickey, falling in love?, fluffy in a twisted sorta way, go watch it, if u haven't seen it shame on u, mentions of child abuse, mentions of prostituion, multipov, vaguely inspired by the movie The Basketball diaries, weird soulmate type of thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renmiriffx/pseuds/Renmiriffx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's beauty in the world, no matter how fucked up everything is. That beauty might be a pair of blue eyes watching you when you wake up, and that's all you really need.</p><p>Ian Gallagher didn't know what he'd gotten himself into after running away from home after diagnosed as Bipolar at the age of 22. And a drug addict with shiny blue eyes, didn't help the all. Especially when Ian decided to bring him home, after a drug overdose. He was out of his league, but he couldn't help himself, like the eyes held so many secrets and Ian needed to know them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IAN

**Author's Note:**

> yesyes the title sucks, get over it.
> 
> I know nothing abt nothing.  
> Not my native language, sorry for the typos and grammar errors.  
> Leave me some love cuties ~<3~  
> I don't bite, not hard anyways.

 

* * *

 

Someone once said that there’s purity in the world… Well that someone can fuck off, ain’t no such thing. We’re all filthy, born to die, we all got our problems, some have bigger than others, but none the less we all have, _problems_. Addictions, fake relationships, hatred, heath issues, abuse, _problems_.

Maybe there isn’t purity in the world, but there’s beauty. If you’re willing to find it, to actually open your eyes and see it. It can be a smiling new born baby, a blossoming rose in the sea of dead roses, mint-chocolate ice cream on a hot summer day, a pair of blue eyes watching you when you wake up.

Isn’t that kinda the point of it? See the negative and positive together as one. Fuck optimism and pessimism, they don’t get the whole picture. There’s good and bad things in the world, it depends how you navigate between them. Only one thing is certain, you can’t do it alone. Loneliness is what kills you in the end.

 

* * *

 

All Ian wanted to do was to go home. Have a bath, glass of milk and just fall asleep. But there was still two hours left on his shift. He leaned against the prick wall on the back alley of the club he worked at as a dancer. If you can call grinding against old men dancing. But it is easy, pays the bills and sometimes it is fun. Plus the dips are good.

Luckily it was the end of the summer, it was still fairly warm, because otherwise the tiny golden shorts wouldn’t have been enough to keep Ian warm. But it was nice to feel the Chicago air against his skin, it tingled and felt refreshing. He took a deep sigh and lit up his cigarette, nailing his eyes to the sky. All the pollution covered up the stars, shame. He wondered should he call his siblings, to tell them he was doing okay…

A raspy voice pulled him back to earth from his thoughts.

“Can I have one?”

Ian draw his eyes to the sound. It was a man? Ian really couldn’t tell from behind all the dirt and the darkness of the alley. It was like the human (at least he thought it was human, because he’d seen them all in the Fairy Tale) had taken a mud bath in the near sewer.

“Come again?” He asked.

“A smoke?” The man said and pointed the burning cigarette between Ian’s fingers.

“Oh, this?” Ian said, looking at cherry of his smoke. “Sure,” He nodded and handed one to the stranger.

“Got light?” The man asked, hands trembling as he placed the smoke between his lips.

The man had raven black hair, it was messy and short, what Ian could tell.

Ian lit up his zippo, offering it to the man, who leaned closer to light the smoke up. He glanced at Ian while doing it. Ian thought they were like sapphires, how they seemed to shine in the dim light. Those eyes had seen life, real life. They were dark, filled with despair, but still behind all that there was the tiniest glisten of hope. And Ian admired that. It was sorta mesmerizing, to look at them, like watching the ocean. Then they blinked shut and the man pulled back.

“Thanks,” Was all the man said before he turned to leave.

“No problem!” Ian shouted after him.

How beautiful, Ian thought when he stepped on the cigarette to put it out and headed back inside.

 

* * *

 

Every once in a while he dreamed of those eyes and when he woke up, he always wondered what the actual man looked like, how old was he, what his story was. Ian was just curious, sure he’d seen all kind of shit in the southside of Chicago, but for some reason, this interested him. He’d seen bums (not that he was saying the man was necessarily a bum, could have been an undercover cop for Ian knows, but still), hell his own dad was a spitting image of one, he’d never cared for Frank. It didn’t interest him one pit why Frank was Frank. But behind _those_ blue eyes was a story Ian wanted to know.

After finishing his mundane tasks, like washing clothes, doing the dishes and making the bed. He decided it was time to call Fiona. He hadn’t exactly run away, though some might call it as that. But can an adult be a runaway? Ian was 22, he just had enough of the pampering. He wasn’t made out of glass. Like his disorder defined him, which it didn’t. He was still Ian, no matter how many manic episodes he endured, he was still there underneath all that. And the meds leveled that out, when his brain went overdrive, the meds brought him back, just leveling, not changing.

Sure, it had been a bitch at first. Like life had more meaning to it, all the crazy shit aside, he got so much done, he had so many ideas, giving that up was like giving up himself, in some level. He didn’t miss the depression though, that was always bullshit. But when his therapist had explained to him that it wasn’t normal to have that kind of brain activity. How had she described it? Like a toaster, when manic the toaster’s too high and bread burns and when depressed the toaster’s too low leaving the bread cold. The point of the meds was to level it out, make the toaster stay on the right setting.

And after many different medications later, they had found one combination that suited him, and he was glad. Didn’t stop the fucking pampering though. That’s why he’d left. Not that he wasn’t grateful to his siblings, but the needed his space. Something that was his. And what he’d gathered wasn’t much. A shitty apartment, one room a built in kitchen, few chairs, some drawers and a bed and a job. Dancing in a gay bar, but job none the less. But fucking hell, it was all his, he’d made it all by himself.

So he sat on the bed and made the call. Nervously he bit his lip when the phone rang a few times before someone picked it up.

“Hello?” The female voice on the other end said.

“Hey Fiona,” Ian almost whispered.

“Ian!?” Fi asked over the line.

“Yeah, it’s me… How’s things?” He asked, trying to avoid the question that was coming.

“It’s so good to hear your voice, oh my god… We’re fine, we’re all good. Where are you?”

“That’s good,” Ian tracked. “I’m around, I’m fine. I have a job and a place to live. So everything’s fine.”

“You take your meds?” And there it was, the fucking question. He glanced at his medication bottles on the bedside table.

“Jesus Fiona! That’ exactly why I left, I can take care of myself, I take my meds regularly, I haven’t had an episode in six months, stop worrying!” He yelled.

“You’re my baby brother, it’s my duty to worry about you.” Fiona said.

“Well don’t, I’m an adult and I can take of myself.” He didn’t know why he repeated that, was it for himself or for Fiona.

“I can’t stop worrying about you, it’s what I do, what we all do.”

“Well I’m fine and out of trouble. I gotta go, my shift is about to start.”

“When you’re coming back?” Fiona asked.

“I’m not coming back, I’ll call you later okay?” And then he hang up.

He knew it had been a bad idea, but he understood that his family had the right to be worried. Really he got that, but he needed to deal with it by himself. And maybe after enough time had passed, he’d go back, to visit them. To try to be a family again. But it wasn’t the time. Not yet.

He sighed and grabbed his pack and heated out. After walking a few blocks he regret not taking his coat, because the autumn nights were getting chilly and the breeze wasn’t as nice, but almost freezing when it hit his face, drying the tears he was trying not to shed. So he wrapped his scarf on tad much tighter.

He always walked the same way to work, under the train tracks, that was the part of his route he hated. It reminted him too much of home and Frank. All the bums under it, slouching over a barrel lit on fire. Their chubby alcohol swollen finger over the fire, warming them. He didn’t care for their stories. But there was something else far from the others. Someone was laying on their back, hands on the air, twisting and turning them, looking at them like they hold the secret to life. But there was no secret, just heck a lot of drugs.

The druggie might have mumbled something when Ian walked past it, but he couldn’t care less what it was saying. He glanced at the hands waving in the air, FUCK U-UP, the knuckles said. Ian laughed to himself. That druggie was not going to fuck anyone up in that condition. So he shrugged and continued walking.

 

* * *

 

It was around 5 a.m when Ian walked home under the train tracks. Most of the bums had scrambled, figuring it was getting too cold to sleep outside or maybe they had a better place to sleep, somewhere warmer. The druggie was still there, but this time it wasn’t moving anymore. Normally Ian would have called the cops or just simply let it be, shit like that happens all the time. But now, for some reason, he grouched beside the druggie. He gave him (Ian could see it was a him now) few pushes to the shoulder just to shook him up.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, but got no response. Then he saw the pool of puke beside the man. Had the man overdosed?

So he asked again. “You okay?” And lightly slapped the man on the cheek, but still nothing. He checked the man’s pulse, which was weak, but still present. Ian put his hand over the man’s mouth, good, he was still somehow breathing.

With care Ian opened his eyelid just to see if he was responding at all. His eye twitched. Pupils swallowed the irises almost completely, just tiny rings of blue surrounded the wide pupils. And then Ian realized he’d dreamed of those eyes, he’d seen them before. But the blueness of the eyes wasn’t bright anymore, it was dying out. They weren’t the sapphires he’d seen before. The eyes that held many secrets behind them.

The man was even dirtier than the last time Ian had seen him. Like the dirt had become part of the face, imprinted on the skin. Clothes, or what was left of them, were covered in holes and dirt. He had only a tank top (Ian could have sworn that the man had a hoodie earlier), jeans and one shoe on. And no socks. Ian was amazed that the man hadn’t freeze to death.

“Gotta chase it… Need to chase it…” The man mumbled. Okay good, the man was somehow conscious.

Then Ian decided to do something incredibly stupid.

“Hold on,” He said, when he picked the man up and somehow managed to slung him over his shoulders. “Stay with me, talk to me,” Ian kept saying and pinching the man on his thig, just to keep him awake. He got grunts in response, which were better than nothing.

The man weight probably a ton, but the walk to Ian’s place wasn’t so long. When they reached to his building Ian lowered the man down.

“Think you can walk?” He asked, giving the man some support by wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

“Fuck, I can walk,” The man wobbled, back and forth.

Ian took a firm grip on the rail and started taking steps, trying to get them up the stairs. Luckily the man cling onto Ian, giving his body weight for Ian to support. It was more like dragging than walking and it took a while, they almost tripped down a couple of times, but still they managed.

Ian let go of the man and placed him against the wall, so he could get his keys out of his pocket. The druggie leaned forward a bit too much, almost falling down, but just in time Ian hurled his leg around the man’s waist, pinning between the wall and his leg. He chuckled to himself, because it was a ninja move, thanks to ROTC when he was still a teen. Standing in one leg, he got the door open and ushered them inside.

He placed the man on his bed, laying on his side, so if he’d puked again, he wouldn’t choke on it.

“You still with me?” He asked the man.

“Fuck you,” Was the answer he got. It wasn’t a thank you, not that Ian was even expecting one.

The man was slipping into something or somewhere, his eyes squeezing shut. That’s when Ian poked him on the ribs.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, I need you to stay awake, okay, can you do that?” Ian said, gently shaking the man.

“Alright, alright. Enough with the shaking,” The man grunted.

“Want water?” Ian asked him, never tearing his eyes away.

“Got beer?”

“No,” Ian sighed. “You understand that you od’ed right?” Ian asked with soft voice.

“Fuck do you care?” The man said, struggling to keep his eyes open.

That was a question Ian had no idea how to answer. Hell, even he didn’t know why he cared, or did he even care? To be honest, he didn’t know why he had brought the man to his home. He just knew that it was something he had needed to do. And that was that.

“I don’t know,” Ian answered honestly.

“Then give me a beer or let me go,” The man said, trying to get up, but immediately crashed back on the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere in the condition and its water or nothing,” Ian bluntly said.

The man grunted, curling up in a fetal position, hugging his knees.

“Water,” He voiced out and Ian nodded.

He backed, eyes on the man, fearing he might bolt, which was unlikely in his condition, but still. He grabbed a glass and filled it with room temperature water.

“Sit up, so you can drink,” Ian said, handing the water to the man.

Slowly the man hauled himself to a sitting position. And took the glass from Ian, drinking down fast.

“Heyhey, don’t drink so fast unless you want to puke again,” Ian said, taking the glass from the bottom and easing it off the man’s lips, looking into those blue eyes, redness aside, where the light was slowly coming back, making them shine again. And the man looked back, studying Ian’s eyes, the expression on them.

“You a fucking drag queen?” The man asked.

Ian laughed, because he’d forgotten he’d just gotten off work and he still had make-up on. Eyeliner and glitter on his eyelids.

“Ha, no. Just a dancer.” Ian said

And the man nodded, he didn’t look as disgusted that Ian had thought he might, or just maybe the man didn’t know what kind of dancer he was. But on the other hand, he’d seen the man for the first time out side of the Fairy Tale, so maybe he knew, but just didn’t care. Or he might be so out of it, he didn’t even get it.

“What’s your name?” Ian asked.

“Mickey, “ The man said, tearing his eyes off and fixing them on the floor.

“Well Mickey, I’m Ian. Nice to meet you,” Ian smiled.

“Nice?” Mickey laughed. “I’m high as a kite and you’re probably some perv.”

“Bit young to be a pervert?” Ian said, pointing to himself, but then he saw Mickey’s face turning into a frown.

“Being pervert has nothing to do with age man,” Mickey said, curling his toes against the cold floor.

And Ian couldn’t help thinking that there was a story behind that statement, but he decided not to push it.

“Wanna bath?” Ian offered instead, glancing at the clock. It’s was nearly 7:30 a.m and Ian was hella glad he didn’t have to work tomorrow, because no way was he getting any actual sleep today. A power nap in between somewhere, maybe.

“I just wanna sleep,” Mickey said.

“You can’t sleep, not yet. I’ll make you a bath?”

“Whatever,” Mickey said, and laid back on the bed.

Ian went to the bathroom, leaving the door open, so he’d hear if Mickey fall of the bed or something. He opened the tab, running a bath for Mickey, he looked at the shower gels. Deciding to pour all of them in the water, he left the tap running and returned to the living area.

“What you take anyway?” Ian tried to ask casually.

“Boy’s best friend… Heroin, smack, junk, whatever, some pills…” Mickey said and laughed.

Ian thought that the situation needed coffee, not that he’d thought it would snap Mickey out of it, but it could help, either way there’s no harm in it. Besides he needed that coffee to stay awake. Fiona’s voice snarling somewhere inside his head. ‘You shouldn’t drink coffee, messes with the meds…’ Meds, fuck.

Ian quickly took his meds from the bedside table without Mickey noticing. One, he needed to take his morning meds, and two Mickey might swallow them in the hopes of getting more high, mistaking them as something else. And a lithium overdose would definitely kill him.

So discreetly he took his meds and hid them in the back of his kitchen cabinet.

“Still here?” He asked Mickey, because he’d been quiet for few minutes now.

“Yeah yeah,” He saw Mickey nodding.

Ian checked the bathtub which was now filled, bubbles floating over the tub.

“Bath’s ready, “He said to Mickey, who tried to get up. “Lemme help you.”

Ian grouched beside Mickey and placed his arm around his shoulder. “Up,” He told Mickey.

He walked them to the bathroom, letting go off Mickey.

“Think you can manage?” He asked and Mickey started taking his clothes off.

As Mickey was peeling his clothes off Ian stole a glimpse, not that he was a pervert, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off that pale back. Mickey still had some muscles on his back, which Ian thought was good, because maybe Mickey wasn’t in such a bad state after all. And he wasn’t that thin. Ian had seen druggies back home, where they were thin and almost all muscles had vanished to nonexistent point. So maybe Mickey would be alright.

But he was pale, what he could see behind the dirt. Pale as snow. And Ian couldn’t help thinking that it was in some twisted way, _beautiful_. When Mickey started taking his jeans off, Ian teared his gaze away.

“I’ll be right here, if you need anything,” He said, leaving the bathroom door open and leaned against the wall next to it. He heard Mickey got in to the tub, and he yawned. Really needing that coffee now, but he did dare to move.

There was splashing noises when the water moved with Mickey. But after a while the noises stopped.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, but got no response.

So he rushed into the bathroom, not seeing Mickey above the water. Fucking hell, Ian thought to himself and nearly jumped into the tub, frapping his hand under Mickey’s armpits pulling him above the water. Luckily Mickey coughed the water from his lungs. Okay maybe it wasn’t such a brilliant idea let a man who had od’ed few hours ago, take a bath alone.

“You okay?” Ian asked, wiping the wet hair from Mickey’s face.

“What you fucking think?” Ian laughed, if Mickey could talk like that he was going to be fine.

“I’ll wash you, okay?” Ian asked.

“Whatever,” Mickey grunted.

Ian didn’t say anything else, he started cleaning Mickey up, almost in massaging motions, he rubbed the dirt off his back. Ian almost gasped when the water and the bubbles revealed the scarred skin under the layer of dirt. But he didn’t say anything, it wasn’t his place to ask. He just continued cleaning and washing, pouring warm water over Mickey’s head and massaged his scalp, getting all of the filth off.

“Turn around,” He said to Mickey, who obeyed almost robotic like movements.

Ian poured some face cleaner on his hand and rubbed it on Mickey’s face and rinsed it away. Mickey’s “true” face wasn’t something Ian had expected. Because, Mickey was beautiful, _fucking beautiful_. Pale skin, fading freckles around his eyes, soft round lips, perfectly balanced. Ian looked Mickey in the eyes for a while, hands still cupping his face and Mickey looked back. Ian thought it was something they called a _moment_. And he had an urge the kiss Mickey, which would have been inappropriate, considering the situation and Mickey’s state of mind. And a guy like that, wasn’t probably even gay.

“You’re soaked, “Mickey said silently.

“Don’t worry about it, “Ian said and smiled to Mickey, and maybe it was Ian’s imagination, but Mickey smiled back, even if it was just slight curl of the mouth, but still.

Then Mickey puked. It wasn’t a real puke, more like stomach slime. Mickey probably didn’t have anything in his stomach to puke out.

“Sorry,” He said, when the gagging stopped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian repeated and helped Mickey up, getting the shower head and rinsed him off. He helped Mickey out of the tub and handed him a towel.

“Okay now?”

“Yeah,” Mickey answered.

“Just dry yourself off and go on the bed, I’ll take a shower and get you some clean clothes.”

Mickey nodded and left the bathroom. Ian yanked the plug and tossed his soaked clothes in the laundry pile and stepped in the shower, washing away the club filth off and practically the world. He tried to be as quick as he could, because he didn’t want to leave Mickey alone more than was necessary. He quickly dried himself and put on a pair of clean boxers and a plain t-shirt and got something for Mickey to wear.

By the time he got back to the living area, Mickey had already dosed off. Ian checked his heartbeat was steady and he breathed normally. Guess it was alright to let him sleep now, maybe the most of the drugs had worn off, so he wouldn’t die in his sleep. Without looking too much, Ian dressed Mickey in boxers and a plain white shirt. Then he went back to the bathroom and got a pair of sweat pants.

He sat down on the kitchen chair and watched Mickey. He’d recon he should let him sleep for a couple of hours.

 

* * *

 

Ian didn’t remember falling asleep, he woke up when something rattled. He opened his eyes and warily glanced around. Mickey wasn’t sleeping on the bed anymore. There was more ratting and he turned his head to see Mickey going through his kitchen cabinets.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” He asked voice filled with sleep, checking the time, 4 p.m. Fuck he’d slept along time.

“You seriously don’t have any booze around here?” Mickey asked him, voice trembling.

“No,” Ian got to say, and the he saw Mickey going for the cabinet where he’d hid his meds.

“What are these?” Mickey said holding the one bottle up, fuck he looked pale. Even paler that before, he wasn’t exactly pale anymore, more like his skin was ash colored.

“There my meds,” Ian sighed, getting up and grabbing the bottle from Mickey.

“What meds?” Mickey asked.

“They’re for my bipolar,” Ian said, knowing that Mickey probably didn’t know what it was. “It’s a disorder, either I bounce of the walls not knowing who I am or I’m depressed to the point that I won’t come out the bed, they—“

“They get you high?” Mickey asked, like he had listened what Ian was saying, but not really.

“No, they don’t get out high,” Ian sighed.

Ian looked at Mickey who scratched his crook of his arm, and by the way his nails almost drew blood was something Mickey had been doing for a while. He shook like a leaf in the wind, his eyes were all red and little blood left on his lips, making them pale and lifeless.

Ian needed to rethink the situation. Whereas Mickey wasn’t a druggie he’d seen back home, but it was pretty obvious Mickey was going through withdrawal. And Mickey was going through it cold turkey style, no booze, no weed.

“Fuck!” Mickey screamed, throwing the pill bottle on the wall.

The outburst wasn’t anything Ian hadn’t seen before, with Monica and Frank. And they had been hella lot worse than this. So he did nothing, he just let Mickey scream his lungs out, there was no point of telling him to calm down, probably would piss him off even more. So Ian sat back on the chair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell!” Mickey yelled and kicked the fridge. “Please man, you gotta have something.” He begged Ian.

“No, “Ian shook his head.

“Please, “He begged again, more than begged, he cried out.

And before Ian could say anything, Mickey on his knees in front of him, trying to get Ian’s pants down.

“I’ll blow you,” Mickey said, between his cries.

Ian stopped his hand before they slipped into his sweat pants.

“No,” He said firmly, shaking his head. That was something he was never willing to do, to take advantage of someone in a state like that.

He held Mickey’s hands. Ian thought that now he understood what Mickey had referred when he’d spoken of perverts. And it made him sad, sick even, that someone would do something like that. What Mickey needed was methadone. But Ian didn’t have something like that laying around his flat. Methadone wasn’t expensive, but you still needed a prescription to get some. And no way was Ian going to get Mickey to a clinic.

What he could do was to make some phone calls. With Mickey crying in pain between his legs, sweating and vomiting to the floor. Ian got his phone out and dialed.

“Hey Lou?” He said on the phone. “Think you could get me some Methadone?”

“What the fuck Ian?” Lou was Ian’s co-worked at the club.

“Keep your pants on Lou, it ain’t for me. It sorta emergency,” Ian pleaded.

“Yeah I can get you some, when you need them?”

“Yesterday,” Ian sighed, running his hand through Mickey’s hair, hushing him, trying to calm him down.

“That fast huh? I see what I can do, I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks Lou, you’re a life saver.” Ian said and hang up.

Ian rubbed his eyes, sighing. It wasn’t that he regret picking Mickey up and bringing him home, it was more that he was worried what would happen if Mickey decided to bolt or do something stupid. He couldn’t leave Mickey alone, he couldn’t go anywhere. Fingers between his locks, he laughed. Because this was the first time he actually realized what Fiona felt like. It made him almost cry, being so hard on his siblings, yelling at them. Fuck, they had been just worried. And now Ian knew what it felt like, and he felt bad. When he’d got this under control, he’d call Fiona and apologize.

“It hurts, it fucking hurts…” Mickey whined.

What made Ian feel more bad, was Mickey’s withdrawal hadn’t even really began yet. It had been only roughly 12 hours since Mickey’s last dose. It was gonna get whole lotta more bad.

He cupped Mickey’s face, holding it in place, “Hey, it’s gonna be alright? I promise you,” He said, trying to hide the pity in his eyes.

Mickey just nodded, mainly because he wasn’t capable of doing anything else.

 

* * *

 

Ian had laid Mickey on the bed, getting a cold rag over his head, not that he’d thought it would do much, but at least it was something. Mickey was curled up in a fetal position and Ian was curled behind him. Gently holding him, petting his hair and stomach, doing the only thing he remembered Fiona doing whenever he’d felt sick as a child.

Mickey kept swearing and trying to flee, but Ian didn’t let him, he squeezed back harder, letting Mickey know he was there. Once in a while Mickey got up to puke in the bucket beside the bed that Ian had gotten. It was nearly 10 p.m when the doorbell rang. Ian got up, Mickey clinging onto his hand, silently pleading him not to go anywhere.

“It will take only a while, okay.” He whispered.

He opened the door and slipped outside, greeting Lou.

“Hey, “He said. “You got it?”

“You look like shit, sure these ain’t for you?” Lou asked, pulling Ian into a hug.

“No no, I’m fine, just didn’t sleep too good.”

“So what you need these for?”

“I got a friend who needs them, he probably od’ed this morning, around 4 a.m.”

“That sucks, know what they took?”

“He said heroin, at least, maybe something else.” Ian shrugged

“You don’t know for sure?”

“No I don’t,” He said.

Ian didn’t even dream of telling Lou how he’d gotten to know Mickey. That he’d just picked a stranger up and brought him home. (Which was funny to Ian, because how it was any different when you pick a guy up and bring him home to have sex?) Lou knew about his disorder and he’d probably put this behavior on it. But for Ian it wasn’t that, he wasn’t manic or anything. It just had been something he’d needed to do at the time.

 “What do I owe you?” He asked Lou when he handed the bag.

“Two shifts, that sound good?” Lou smiled.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Ian nodded, but then he heard Mickey yelling inside.

“Sorry, I need to go, thanks for these!” He said, waving the bag and gave Lou a hug, before going back inside.

Just as Ian got inside, Mickey’s fist went through the wall.

“Fuck!” Mickey yelled.

Ian didn’t say anything, just watched the blood dripping from Mickey’s knuckles. He just got a rag from the kitchen and went to Mickey. He tied the rag around Mickey’s knuckles.

“It’s gonna be okay,” He said to Mickey.

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know shit—“Mickey puked again, and Ian was sure that by now Mickey was puking out only stomach acids.

“I got you these,” Ian said taking out a bottle.

“You are those?” Mickey asked, wiping his mouth.

“Methadone,” Ian simply said, popping few out and handing them to Mickey who looked suspicious.

“There’re better than nothing,” Ian said and got the water glass for Mickey, so he could swallow the pills.

Mickey took the pills and went back to the fetal position on bed and Ian curled beside him.

 

* * *

 

Next morning Ian called in sick, luckily he had sick days he could use. Mickey hadn’t gotten out of bed, he just kept tossing around. Waking up the use the toilet or the throw up, but otherwise he just slept or screamed. And Ian didn’t know what to do anymore, he tried to get Mickey to eat, but he always refused.

Ian sat on the kitchen chair, smoking his third cigarette on a row. Fuck should he do? He couldn’t keep Mickey locked up in here, at some point he had to leave to work and for groceries. He doubled that Mickey was willing to go to rehab, and he probably didn’t have any money for it. He could take him to a shitty free clinic somewhere, but even if Mickey would go then what? Just leave him there?

But it wasn’t his decision to make, it was Mickey’s. He wasn’t his keeper, he wasn’t anything, just a guy who’d brought him home, and nothing else. He would to whatta fuck he wanted when he’d got up on his feet. So Ian decided to focus on now, and to his growling stomach.

 

* * *

 

On the third day Ian had to leave for work. He was glad that Mickey was finally starting to look like a human again, he’d even managed to eat a pancake in the morning.

“I need to go to work tonight,” He said to Mickey.

“To the club?” Mickey asked.

Ian was awestruck, it never even crossed his mind that Mickey would remember him from the club few months back.

“To give lap dances and shit?” He added.

“Something like that,” Ian nodded.

Ian could see Mickey frowning from the kitchen, where he was smoking.

“Wanna know a secret?” Mickey whispered.

And Ian nodded, inhaling smoke.

“I don’t know if you remember this, but I once bummed you a cigarette,” Mickey started.

“I remember, it was the end of summer,” Ian said smiling.

“Huh? You do? Didn’t think you’d recognize me…”

“Your eyes are hard to forget,” Ian said, looking at the floor for a second before lifting his gaze back to Mickey who was blushing lightly.

“Anyway, I did have a cigarette, I just thought you were pretty,” He said blushing even more.

Ian blushed as well, “Well thank you,” He muttered, mouth suddenly dry.

They both fell into silence after that, and Mickey crawled back under the covers.

Ian grabbed a quick bite and another smoke, before he turned back to Mickey.

“You can leave, you know? You don’t need to stay here, I’m not going to lock the door or anything,” He said, trying to hide the disappointment in his tone.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to stay here?” Mickey clearly asked.

Ian smiled, “Sure, you can stay.”

Anyone in their right minds would have said that Ian was mental, but he didn’t have anything to steal, besides what was Mickey going to do in his state? Punch more holes in the walls? Something like that didn’t bother Ian, there was only one thing bothering him. The possibility that Mickey was lying to him, and he was gonna come home and find the place empty.

“There food in the fridge if you get hungry or something,” He said, “I need to go now.”

He got up, grabbing his bag from the rack beside the front door and opened it.

“Bye,” He said, little bit heartbroken.

“Bye Ian,” He heard Mickey say back, he smiled briefly and praised himself and started walking.

 

* * *

 

Ian almost cried when he walked home, fearing the empty flat, but as he got nearer his door, he smelled waffles.

He jingled the key on the lock to get it open, his eyes immediately looked at the empty bed, and he frowned, getting rid of his jacket, hanging it on the rack by the door. But the smell of waffles came from his kitchen.

“Mickey?” He said, amazed when he saw him making waffles.

“Figured you might wanna some breakfast.” He simple said, not even turning to look at Ian.

“Feeling better?” Ian asked and walked to the kitchen.

He almost laughed when he saw that all of the waffles were badly burned, but he didn’t say anything, he just lowered his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, looking at the waffles.

“They look good,” He lied.

“Fuck you! They look like shit and probably taste like shit as well, but I had to do something alright, I’ve never even cooked before, fuck this is shit—“ He rambled on, but stopped when he felt Ian wrapping his hand around his waist.

“Thank you,” Ian said burying his face on the crook of Mickey’s neck.

“Fuck,” Mickey said, turning back to hug Ian.

It wasn’t a fairy tale, Ian knew that, but he wanted to have it, at least for a while. Maybe Mickey wasn’t going to be there next week, maybe next month they’d to this again, Ian would find Mickey with a needle on his arm in the bathroom. And fuck Ian knew it was unhealthy, two broken sick pieces don’t make one right.

But now he knew that he’d fallen in love the second he saw those blue eyes, and if it makes him crazier than he already is, then let it. Just _fucking_ let it.

 


	2. MICKEY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't come out as I wanted, it ain't as realistic as I wanted and it's over the top. But I wrote it for myself, it's dark and fucked up, but I needed to write something, where they can survive something bad and accept those bad things and still try to over come them. So this chap is for me. Definitely ain't my finest hour, but fuck it.

Someone might argue that people around us make who we are. Our parents, teachers, friends, acquaintances. Well fuck them. Mickey refused to believe that someone _made_ him. Or that their actions effected on how he turned up. He was the one who made the choices that ultimately defined who he was and who he is today, if he even is anymore. Counting days by the bottles he drinks, by the sexual acts he performs, by the beatings he takes or gives, by the needle marks on his arms. By the nights he sees a _burning redhair_ calling towards him, how it glimmers under the flashing neon lights, a beauty he can never have or _deserve_.

He chose this. Not that he woke up one day and decided that ‘Hey, I’m gonna be a drug addict when I grow up’, it just happened, like dominos. It wasn’t his father’s hands around his neck or on his mother’s face. Or the feeling of someone’s jaw breaking under his fist. Not even a belt lashing the skin off his back. It wasn’t them, it was all on him, and _him alone_. And it was his to suffer.

 

* * *

 

Mickey didn’t even remember the last time he had showered, could have been last week or the week before that. Honestly he didn’t even care. He didn’t smell himself anymore, either he was used to the smell or years of abuse considering his nose, with the help of cocaine, had taken its toll, fucking up his sense of smell. Not that he had a place where to shower anyway. He’d been kicked out of his last place a month ago, luckily it was summer, so sleeping outside wasn’t so bad. But when he checked his pockets and the bag he had. He realized he didn’t have any money… Meaning he needed a shower.

It wasn’t something he was proud of, but neither was he ashamed of it. He endured it. He needed to endure it. Occasionally he even liked it, got off on it. And when he was desperate he’d swing anyway he was needed to. It didn’t make him anything. He was a mere vessel for pleasure in exchange for money. It wasn’t something Mickey did all the time, but sometimes yes, not often, but sometimes. Again, an act of desperation. But he hated it when it got bad, and he had the scars to prove it. He didn’t want to remember how it all had started…

So Mickey wandered, stopping at some god for shaken gas station to attempt to clean himself up a bit, but the men’s room didn’t have any soap, so he settled for just scrubbing his junk. He brushed his teeth though.

It’s well past midnight when Mickey found himself at boystown. He frequently went there, because it was the easiest place to pick up dirty old men who were looking for some action. Once he’d went inside, lights flashing and people dancing or grinding against each other or some shit. Booze was expensive, at the prize of two cocktails, he’d get one hit of third rate smack. He didn’t like it inside the club, it was loud and smelled like jizz. So he mostly hung outside.

It was easy, at least when he was presentable. Mickey was fairly good-looking, and he knew his eyes were like gems. Everybody liked his eyes. I didn’t also hurt that he was still quit young. But the lack of smiling was something people complained about sometimes, when they were nice. He wandered deeper into the back alleys, hunting a cigarette from his pocket

But Mickey did smile when he saw someone under the flashing neon light. Leaning against the wall, smoking. And what Mickey could tell, that someone, _he_ , was pretty. Mickey never had pretty things in his life, not even as a child. Whereas others had cool toys to play with, he had bruises to outline. That was his game, to guess how long it took for them to disappear.

But now Mickey wanted to see him closer, so he hid his cigarette and approached the man and asked him one. As Mickey lit the smoke up, they locked eyes. Mickey couldn’t see the color of the man’s eyes, nor would have he cared. They were pretty anyhow. Mickey wanted to say something, anything, but he just couldn’t. Something like that wasn’t for him. So he fled. The thing he does best. Mickey didn’t want drugs that night, he had something else to dream about and it was real. Wasn’t some fairy tale bullshit that comes out of a needle. It was real, _he_ was real. The redhead boy was real. And he wanted him more than drugs.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks went by Mickey looked for his beacon, but he wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there!? Mickey fucking needed him to be there, that smoke between his lips, that absent minded-look on his face. Why wasn’t he there? Mickey felt like falling apart, and he did.

He’d been sleeping where and when ever. Using more than he had in years, drinking more he had in ages. It was itching now, like really bad – hand shaking, blood boiling, heart dying – bad. So he searched for Stiggie, not that Mickey felt like laughing right now, but he did anyways. Why did drug dealers always have fucking stupid nicknames? Stiggie, Biggie, Trickky, _Iggy_ … He didn’t laugh anymore.

Home had have good qualities too. Iggy and Mandy had been there. Mickey had been grateful that daddy had never been so rough with them. Mandy being a girl and Iggy being older and more obedient than Mickey. But still he did harbor some grudge against them. Why him and not them? It didn’t feel fair. But when has life ever been fair?

Mickey found Stiggie under the L.

“You holding?” Mickey asked when he saw him lurking in the shadows.

“For my favorite customer, always.” The drug dealer smiled. “What’s ya hungry for?”

“Brown sugar,” Mickey said.

Stiggie arched a brow. “You good for it? Doesn’t come cheap, ya feeling me?”

Mickey reached for his back pocket and pulled up some wrinkled Ben’s. He didn’t even remember where he’d gotten them. Mickey saw Stiggie’s eyes sparkling, like a child in a candy store.

“Well well, me mousie. For that I’ll get ya anything ya need.” He smiled.

Mickey felt the need to wriggle, like there was bugs under his skin, eating away his self-worth. He fucking hated when someone called him a mouse. But annihilating Stiggie till he was dust, wasn’t a good idea. He might have done a lot of things, but he didn’t want murder under his rap sheet.

“Just give me all that it gets me,” Mickey controlled his raging voice.

“Alright, my man,” The dealer searched his inner pocket. “Here ya go, have a splendid trip!” He grinned and handed Mickey a package, that was poorly wrapped in plastic.

 

* * *

 

Mickey knew that he messed up when stared at his hands. He couldn’t even read out what his knuckles said, even though he knew exactly what they spell out. Only one he was going to fuck up, was himself as he felt slipping deeper into oblivion. It wasn’t sweet and it didn’t feel good like it used to feel. It didn’t numb him out anymore, all he felt was his cells slowly dying out. He puked.

He saw his beacon flashing in front of his eyes. He vaguely registered someone kneeling beside him.

“Gotta chase it… Need to chase it…” Mickey mumbled

The voice speaking to him was kind and warm, Mickey wanted to hug the voice…

He remembered being carried, he remembered walking, he remembered almost falling asleep, he remembered talking. But none of it was a dream. The redhead, _Ian_ , was real. And he took care of Mickey. Giving him water, bathing him, smiling at him. And Mickey felt safe.

 

* * *

 

Fuckers who say that withdrawal ain’t real, that it’s just some hoax, that drugs addicts use to get more drugs are fucking wrong, sweat it out they say. They should be hang by the balls or tits, depends on the gender. Because the pain Mickey felt was real, more real than any headache or flu you’d ever feel. The methadone Ian had given him helped, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t take the edge away. It was like a dull knife cutting his insides out slowly. Pain wasn’t anything new to Mickey, but _feeling_ was.

Feeling Ian’s arms around him at night, holding him steady and firmly, was something he’d never felt before. The warmth was oozing off Ian and it was like a lullaby soothing Mickey to dreamland. And it reminted Mickey of the babbles in rehab three years ago.

_“It’s critical to remember that you are doing this for yourself, and you can’t do it for anybody else. Someone can acts as an incentive, but it can’t be the whole reason for to get clean. You can try to get clean for someone, but it doesn’t work if you don’t really want it. You need to want it and you need to know your limits.” Some brunette lady had said during a meeting in rehab._

But it doesn’t mean Mickey can’t try. All he needed was to figure out why he wanted to do it for Ian. What made Ian so special? When no one else wasn’t. Not Mandy or Iggy.

 

* * *

 

Next day Ian left for work, leaving Mickey alone. So he made pancakes, saying thank you is something Mickey isn’t used to say, so he said it with pancakes even though they sucked. Badly.

Ian was weird, the pancakes were burned, but still he took out a plate and poured syrup over them and sat down to eat.

“They’re good,” He lied, mouthful of pancakes.

Mickey laughed, an honest laugh. Grabbing a seat opposite of Ian.

“No need to do that man, they’re shit. Don’t sugar cover it.”

“I still appreciate the effort though,” Ian smiled, his eyes shining.

“So Mickey… What’d you think about staying here?

“You mean here?” Mickey said, looking around the flat. “With you?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey looked Ian into the eyes and saw a burning flame there, same kind of flame he had in his eyes when he needed drugs. _Desire,_ they call it. And Mickey was more than okay with that.

“Yeah,” He weakly smiled.

“I have a condition though.” Ian said.

“And what is that?” Mickey had an idea what Ian was about to say.

“No more drugs.”

And there it was, just as Mickey thought it would. It wasn’t like the drugs were part of him, but still it was a piece of him that Ian was asking him to give up. But for this, for Ian. He could, he _will_ try it.

“Okay,” He nodded.

“Because I’m not willing to watch you die,” Ian said tearing his eyes off Mickey.

“There a story behind that?” Mickey found himself asking, even though it wasn’t any of his business.

“Aren’t there always,” Ian stated like it was a fact, and it’s true. Mickey has plenty of stories he doesn’t want Ian to know. At least not yet. So Mickey left it at that, he wasn’t going to push Ian.

 

* * *

 

Mickey started to feel slightly better in the following days. But the nights that Ian was working were hard. It was like Mickey could manage when Ian was around, but when he wasn’t he felt like falling apart, and bad. An itch you can’t quite scratch. It’s there somewhere inside, nowhere to be reached, and yet you know exactly how to cure it. Simply walk out the door and get lost, get what you need and watch yourself fade away. Distraction was needed.

Mickey was more than happy when the front door opened and Ian stepped in.

“Mickey?” Ian whispered, something he did to check if Mickey was awake, so he wouldn’t wake him up for nothing.

“Yeah?” Mickey answered under the covers.

They slept in the same bed. Sometimes cuddling, sometimes not. But whenever Mickey shivered, Ian would always wrap his arms around Mickey, rocking him to sleep. And that was it. They never did anything nor did they ever talk about it. Call it a symbiosis if you will. And it worked for them. Mickey had a faint idea of Ian’s sexuality (the man worked in a gay bar for Christ’s sake), but did Ian know what made Mickey’s dick twitch? Probably not.

“I’m gonna take a bath, wanna join me?” Ian asked, fairly casually, like it was perfectly normal for two dudes to take a bath together, washing each other’s backs and shit.

“Sure,” Mickey said without any hesitation.

Mickey got up and went to the bathroom and run the bath without the bubbles. He sat on the edge of the tub, watching the water filling it. There was the lightest touch on his shoulder.

“What did you do today?” Ian lowered his chin on Mickey’s other shoulder.

These were their affections. Just touches here and there and never anything more. And they were starting to mean more to Mickey than any other drug would.

“Watched tv for a bit, mostly slept,” Mickey said, running his hand in the water. “How was work?” He added.

“Same old, same old. All though there was a man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, so our bouncer had to kick him out,” Ian sighed.

It made Mickey mad. He didn’t like the idea of some dirty fucker touching Ian, especially when Ian didn’t want them to touch him. Mickey’s hands turned into fists, nails digging into the palms, leaving behind half moon marks.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. Everything is fine, nothing bad happened,” Ian hushed him, wrapping his arms around Mickey. “I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re safe.”

Mickey leaned back on Ian’s body, hanging his head against Ian’s shoulder blade.

“You sure?” He whispered.        

“Nothing can hurt us,” Ian reassured him, burying his head on the crook of Mickey’s neck.

“Okay,” Mickey breathed out, closing his eyes.

Ian eased his arm off around Mickey and shut the tab.

“I think the bath’s ready,” He said, getting up and took off his clothes.

Ian climbed into the tub and Mickey followed him after taking his clothes off. He sat down opposite of Ian and just stared at him, without saying anything, and Ian just smiled at him, like he always did. Ian cupped his hands, gathering water in them and splashed it into his face, rubbing off his “war paint”. So he could he himself again, and Mickey liked Ian that way, without the stupid make-up, to Mickey Ian looked so pretty without it. His freckles shining through the pale skin.

“Come here,” Ian said looking at Mickey.

Mickey nodded and turned around, flushing their bodies together, so his back was against Ian’s upper body. He allowed himself to relax. They stayed like that for a while until Ian pushed Mickey forward and started washing his back.

Ian’s hands ghosted over the now red scars from the warmth of the water on Mickey’s back. And Mickey knew Ian wanted to ask him about them. Hell anybody would.

Mickey sighed and run his hand over his face.

“It was a bad decision years ago…” He whispered.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me,” Ian said.

Mickey knew he didn’t, but he felt like he owe something to Ian. For everything he had done for him. Ian needed to know what kind of man he had let into his home. He deserved to know. So Mickey took a deep breath, praising himself for what he was about to tell Ian.

“I was just a teenager back then… I had just ran away from home and I needed money, so I found someone, who was you know, willing to pay me for certain things…” He stopped to take a breath, while Ian continued to massage his shoulders.

“But I couldn’t go through with it, once I got his pants down, I… I panicked. I took his wallet and ran. And I hid. Didn’t last too long though. I should have known it.”

“Mickey…” Ian started, but Mickey cut him off.

“Let me finish, okay? So after two weeks he found me, I don’t know how, but he did. I know I deserved, I had brought it down on myself.”

“Did he?” Ian’s voice trembled.

“Rape me?” Mickey huffed out a wry chuckle. “No, he tried though, lashed my back with his belt, hence the scars.” Mickey reached to his back, tracing the outlines of the scars. “So I almost bit his finger off and got the fuck outta there.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Ian said, hugging Mickey from behind.

“Well I did hustle him, so makes it kinda my fault,” Mickey said, bringing his knees to his chest.

“But you were a child.”

“Still my choice, my actions.”

“No,” Ian said firmly, taking Mickey by his jaw and turning Mickey’s head to face him. “It had nothing to do with you, you were a child. And he knew that, he’s the criminal, preying on underage child.” Ian looked Mickey into the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, got it?” Ian’s eyes bounced around Mickey’s face and eyes. “Whatever you did was to survive, and there’s nothing wrong in that.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re not disgusted by me?” Mickey asked unsure.

“No way,” Ian smiled. “I’ve done stupid things in my day.”

“But…”

“Stop it, I grind against old men for living remember? I’m no angel.” Ian laughed. “Just trust me okay?”

“Okay,” Mickey said, his eyes downcast. A hand on Ian’s face. ”Thanks.”

Then Mickey felt Ian’s lips on his forehead, it was bittersweet. Mickey lifted his head up as Ian’s lips parted for his forehead. They locked eyes and Ian leaned forward so their noses brushed together. Without even thinking it through Mickey closed his eyes and pecked Ian on lips. It didn’t last more than a second, but that second was everything they needed.

Mickey turned fully around and straddled Ian, folding his arms around Ian’s neck and leaned them forward with the help of his knees, forcing Ian’s head against the tiles above the tub. They took a final look of each other before diving in.

When their lips touched again, it was like an electric rush. Ian’s hands travelled across Mickey’s back, totally ignoring the scars, like they weren’t even there.  Mickey parted his lips when the tip of Ian’s tongue brushed against his lower lip. The rush it gave… It lifted Mickey higher than he had ever been before, and fuck it felt good. Tongues sliding together, lips swollen, they kissed like no one had ever kissed before.

It was more than just a simple kiss, it was a drug that they both were high on. World shut down around them, not even a peep was heard. It was just them, just Mickey and Ian. All they seemed to need at the moment. After too many minutes, lips hurting and lungs begging for air, Mickey pulled away just enough that they could breathe. Lips still against each other, Mickey’s teeth grazing Ian’s top lip slightly. Barely even there, when they sucked in air. Looking at each other under the fluttering lashes, they smiled and went for it again.

That morning they fell asleep on the others arms, foreheads clinging together. And it was perfect.

 

* * *

 

Next time Mickey woke up, it was like waking after a really good high and he smiled. But when he felt the bed next to him, his smile died. The bed under his fingers was cold and empty, Ian wasn’t there.

“Ian?” Mickey called out, getting in a sitting position.

But there was no answer, Mickey checked the clock on the wall. It was after four in the evening, or at least Mickey thought it was evening. Mickey got up the get a glass of water. In the kitchen table was a note, Mickey picked it up and a smile spread on his face.

_Left for work, last night was perfect. I get off at midnight. Wait for me? We’ll do something fun then ;) ps. These are the spare keys if you need to go somewhere._

_-IAN-_

So Mickey waited, he even went for a walk during the night, to get some fresh air to clear his head. He walked around the neighborhood. Hands inside his pockets. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. He didn’t even feel the need for drugs, not even a cigarette. Everything seemed good. And Mickey liked the feeling. He liked that Ian was the one that made this all possible. His fingers brushed across his lips, remembering the feeling of Ian’s lips on his. It was a memory he’d cherish till the end of days. There had been something special about last night, Mickey didn’t even care why it was so special, nothing could touch him now. He was fucking happy.

When he got back to the flat, he showered, brushed his teeth and washed his clothes. H made the bed and hoovered the apartment. He almost cringed the domestic thought, but fuck it. He could be domestic. Even though he didn’t exactly knew where he and I stood. What they were now? Were they together now or something? Mickey settled on the thought that it didn’t matter what they were, as long as Ian was there, nothing else mattered to him now.

The clock was nearly 2 a.m and there was still no sign of Ian. Mickey was starting to get worried. What if Ian had lied to him? What if Ian really did think that he was disgusting and not worth the trouble? He paced around the flat, so many times that the floor might give in and it and Mickey would crash into the lower floor.

Normal person would probably be worried that something had happened to Ian, that maybe he was mugged or something, but Mickey wasn’t programmed that way. Only things he knew were bad, and his mind always thought of the worst case scenario first. And that things were always his fault. If he hadn’t told Ian anything last night, maybe Ian would be here? Maybe and fucking maybe. Mickey’s thoughts were driving him crazy. And what he normally does when things go crazy? _No, no_ , he reassured himself, Ian will come back. He _will,_ you wait and see, _he’ll come back_.

But he didn’t.

It was until the next day that Mickey fell apart. _He ain’t coming back, he fucking left you. See, I told you. You’re a dirty old slut, and no one wants you_. Shut shut shut shut. SHUT UP! Mickey kept banging his head against the wall. Fuck it. The rehab lady had been right, you can’t stay clean for someone, especially when the someone isn’t even there. He punched his fist through the front door, leaving blood everywhere. So Mickey did, what he does best. He ran, head high of the clouds.

 

* * *

 

High as a kite, Mickey’s legs brought him to the painfully familiar alley. The redhaired beacon wasn’t there with the smoke between his lips. You don’t think much when high and Mickey didn’t even register what he was doing until someone opened the backdoor in the alley.

“Excuse me?” The tall, muscular man said. Voice softer than you’d imagine, and it made Mickey laugh.

“Ian hereeee? Seen thhhaht red devil son of a biatcchh?!” Mickey slurred and yelled at the same time.

“Sorry man, can’t let you in,” The bouncer said when Mickey tried to push past him.

“FUCK YOOOU!” Mickey yelled even louder, but then he saw a redhead peeking over the bouncer’s shoulder.

“Let me handle this,” Ian said to the bouncer, who nodded. “Hand me a coat, will you?”

Ian stepped into the cold autumn night, putting on the oversized coat.

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” Ian asked softly and Mickey, despite his condition he could feel Ian’s eyes studying him. “What did you take?” Ian asked, worry all over his face.

“You didn’t come back,” Mickey said and he felt like crying. “WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU COME BACK? YOU ABONDONED ME!” Mickey yelled as loud as he could, feeling the hot tears rolling across his cheeks. “And fucks it to you what I take?”

“Mickey…” Ian said and took a step closer to Mickey, who took one back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry huh? Fuck you! I told you something, I’ve never told anyone and the next thing I know you bailed, so you tell me how I’m supposed to fucking feel? I fucking needed you!”

“So your answer is to get fucked and come yell in my work place?” Ian said, getting slightly angry.

“No reason to stay sober now is there?” Mickey cried. “You don’t want me. You saw some poor boy and tried to fix him? Well guess what fucker? You ain’t gonna fucking fix me. I’m a drug addict, okay? Always have been, always will be. A fucking loser.” Mickey said, wiping tears off his face.

“Fix you?” Ian said confused. “I’m not gonna fucking fix you! I fucking NEED you,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“Need me?” Mickey asked weakly.

“Yes. Think you’re the only one with hard past and a fucked up life? Well you ain’t.” Ian huffed out a tear filled laugh.

“I’m fucking bipolar remember? I once watched my mom almost bleed to death after she tried to kill herself! And if I can take care of you, it means maybe I can take care of myself, understand?” Ian said.

Mickey tried to search for words, but they just wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“I…” He tried.

“I wasn’t gonna leave you Mickey, I need to do extra shifts that I owed a co-worker. I was gonna come home to you as soon as I could. We would have watched a movie, curled up in the bed, drinking hot cocoa. We would have laughed and we would have been happy? I’m always happy when I’m with you.” Ian tried to smile confidently.  “And besides there wasn’t phone I could leave a message, now was there?”

Mickey felt stupid, his knees felt weak, he felt weak.

“You’re not… leaving me?” Mickey whispered.

“No Mickey,” Ian said, taking a step forward and this time Mickey didn’t back up.

“I’m not leaving you,” Ian said, wrapping his arms around Mickey. “We make sense in some fucked up twisted world.  We’re not broken and we don’t need to be fixed. We’re not broken okay? We just are, you know? I need you, and you clearly need me. So we stay together and take care of each other, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mickey mumbled, hands finding their place on the sides of Ian’s oversized coat.

“Yeah,” Ian whispered, placing a lingering kiss on top of Mickey’s head.

And there was Mickey’s answer why Ian was so special. Ian seemed to need him in a way that he needed him. And fuck if they weren’t gonna give it at least a shot. Because nothing mattered when Ian’s arms were around him. Maybe Ian was gonna make him someone he was supposed to be in the end. Someone might think they are crazy for doing what they are doing, and for even trying but fucking let them, just _let_ them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, my head's up in some fairy tale land.
> 
> Gimme me critique PLS.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS for reading!  
> And fuck, I'm out, peace! <3<3  
> Edit: ARG, I want uno shots, why can't I have oneshots? mur, hm, there's gonna be Mickey's POV, someday, idk.


End file.
